


reverence

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:15:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22365505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There’s a reverence in the way Geralt fucks Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 688





	reverence

There’s a reverence in the way Geralt fucks Jaskier.

The firmness in his grip, not too strong to crush, but unlike gentle caresses, those calloused hands always _wandering_ , always _exploring_. The hot breath against his chest and stomach, the witcher always taking his time to map out the plains and curves and lines in the bard’s body as if they hadn’t done this a hundred times over. The way he becomes more vocal during sex, always telling Jaskier that he was doing so good, where to put his mouth and his hands, how pretty he looked bouncing on his cock.

The way Geralt focused on fucking Jaskier like his life depended on it. Like Geralt always knew what he was doing, knew Jaskier more than the man knew himself, which could be very possible from the eight years travelling together. At some points, the bard will say he could write a ballad on how good the White Wolf of Rivia’s cock was, and though Geralt is left wondering if he meant it (which he probably did, knowing the lark), he knows he means the same sentiment.

There’s a stark difference in the way they fuck than in the way they act normally. The way they spoke to each other was snarky; rarely too nice, always biting in a manner akin to that of a cat’s nibbling. The way they fucked was different, less words from the bard and more from the witcher. Geralt spoke with so much reverence in his tone that sometimes Jaskier feels like crying, all while he was buried to the hilt in Jaskier’s ass, fingers exploring his chest and holding the base of his cock. If Jaskier teared up more from the things Geralt said rather than the mind-blowing orgasm he rocked out of him, that’s between him and the gods.

“You’re always so...” Jaskier begins, tracing circles on Geralt’s sweaty chest as he lies on the witcher’s pec. He tries to find the words, which takes him a moment, since his brains were literally fucked out of him, still recuperating. Geralt looks at him in question, those golden eyes so sharply yet softly looking at him, still dilated as all hell. “Talkative. When we fuck, I mean. You’re not much for conversation on the road, but. You say a lot when we’re in bed.”

It’s a strange detail to note at this time, when his hole’s still somewhat leaking of cum and they’re taking a breather before getting up to get cleaned. Geralt doesn’t look fazed, just looks at Jaskier in that inquisitive but amused face he makes every now and then when he says something so new and endearing (which is rare now, eight years into their travelling together, though it was already a rare combination). Jaskier has to stop himself from saying Geralt had the eyes of a hawk. “Do you want me to stop talking?” Geralt asks, fixing his arm in a way that he can get a better angle to look at his lover in the eye.

“Of course not, the very idea is absurd,” Jaskier sputters, and it’s true. He’s quite used to one sided conversations, with him being the more talkative party, but it seems when they have sex, it’s the opposite. He’s a blubbering mess of moans and ‘yes!’ while Geralt talks and talks _and talks_. “I’m just curious as to why. I like it when you talk like that.” He adds on, channeling the responsibility of being the witcher’s bard and boosting the man’s ego. The smirk in his face is indicative that he doesn’t need the boost whatsoever.

“I wouldn’t say it’s for any big reason,” Geralt says, thinking of the right words to say to convey what he means. When he’s in the moment, he knows exactly what to say, but now that he has the time to think and reflect, he finds it a lot harder than usual. “I like telling you things that make you act the way you do, all the reactions they rip from you.” He says, fingers rubbing at the small crook in Jaskier’s waist. “I mean it.” He adds when he feels more than sees Jaskier’s insecurity creep in.

“Thought witchers didn’t have emotions; don’t you need those for that?” And Jaskier knows just how untrue this was, because if it were, how would it be that Geralt would lay his life down for anyone innocent roped into something they didn’t want to be involved in? How would it be that he’d take on jobs and contracts without assurance of payment from some bumfuck village in the middle of nowhere hoping to rid their village of wargs? How would it be that he survived Jaskier for eight years?

“Hm.” Geralt grunts, changing their angle again so his arm is snug around Jaskier and his chin rested against his lover’s head, smelling of orchids, closing his eyes. “Guess they were wrong.”

Jaskier doesn’t have to hide the smile that appears on his face, and understands.


End file.
